


Pillow Princess

by brokencasbutt67



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Camping, M/M, Shameless Smut, Sleeping Bag Sex, Smut, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokencasbutt67/pseuds/brokencasbutt67
Summary: uhhhhhhh they fuck in a tent?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 109





	Pillow Princess

Camping has been a staple of many children's lives throughout the ages, Newt can remember a number of times that he'd been on camping trips when he was with boy scouts.

So following the Armageddon that Wasn't, when Newt & Anathema, the Them and Crowley & Aziraphale were all friends, a camping trip to get to know everyone a little better than they already do.

Of course, the Them agreed, and it didn't take much for them to persuade their families. Newt and Anathema agreed. Crowley agreed.

Aziraphale was less keen.

He enjoys many of humanity's inventions - from books to his bed. But camping, on the other hand, takes them all away. A bed consists of a mat on the floor; heating is made of a fire that needs monitoring and food is unheard of.

He eventually agrees to go, though it requires lots of begging from Crowley.

So Newt sets up the small holiday. They're going camping somewhere up in Yorkshire. Crowley and Aziraphale will take the Them in the back of the Bentley, he and Anathema will go in Dick Turpin and carry most of the stuff needed.

They pull up in a campsite, which was Aziraphale's request. He'd go camping, but if there were no proper toilet facilities he would rather not.

So they chose a campsite that had toilet facilities, but very little else. There were no other tents nearby, and Crowley was more than content with that. It allowed him to put up his and Aziraphale's tent with nothing more than a thought, seizing the opportunity to sit and watch as everyone else struggled with their tents. Aziraphale clambered into the tent, rather surprised to find it was much larger on the inside than how it appeared outside, much like the Tardis from Doctor Who.

He lays out their sleeping bag, and the numerous blankets he brought along, before joining Crowley in relaxing.

It took Newt far too long to put his and Anathema’s tent up, though that could be due to the fact he was alone in putting it up. Crowley, The Them and even Anathema were having much more enjoyment from the sight of Newt putting the tent up, while Aziraphale wanted to help Newt, but he didn't help.

* * *

The fire was roaring, the tents were all finally up and there was food being cooked. The Them were enjoying themselves, even Dog was having fun. Crowley can see how tense Aziraphale is, he can see how uncomfortable the angel is being away from home and the luxuries that he loves.

"I think I'm gonna hit the hay," He says. Aziraphale nods.

"I think I will too" He comments, and a moment later they're alone in their tent. Crowley snaps his fingers, a small smirk on his face.

Aziraphale frowns slightly.

"Crowley?" He asks while unbuttoning his shirt.

"Fuck, angel. You tryna kill me or somethin'?" Crowley's voice was low, though he knows just how loud he could be, due to a small action of his that probably won't go unnoticed by Hell, not that he cares.

"Crowley, there are children only meters away!" Aziraphale exclaims though he's shifting closer to Crowley all the same.

"They won't hear anything, angel, they'll hear nothing" Crowley murmurs, while tugging his own tee off. It's tossed aside, and Aziraphale is clambering into his lap, kissing him deeply.

The kiss is heated, it doesn't take long for Crowley to have Aziraphale laid on his back, somehow in one of the sleeping bags. The kisses continue as Aziraphale reaches down to unzip Crowley's jeans. Crowley smirks, nipping along Aziraphale's neck.

Before long, Aziraphale's trousers are tossed aside and Crowley's jeans join them shortly after. Their underwear mysteriously appears on the pile of clothing that they were wearing a few moments prior. Crowley leans down, nipping and biting a trail over Aziraphale's neck that leaves the angel moaning, gasping and writhing against the sleeping bag.

"Crowley, please... I'm ready" Aziraphale whimpers, his legs spreading. Crowley frowns slightly, trailing his hand down between Aziraphale's legs.

"Fuck, did you..." Crowley asks, his eyes flicking up to meet Aziraphale's, though the angel's head was thrown back, he was gripping the pillow beneath his head.

"Fuck, angel, you're such a pillow princess and I fuckin' love it" He murmured, shifting to lift Aziraphale's legs to wrap around him lining himself up. Aziraphale flushes, a shade of pink hitting his cheeks, but it soon fades as his head falls back as he lets out a low, long moan.

Crowley's head falls forward, resting on Aziraphale's chest as he builds a rhythm, struggling to hide his own moans. Aziraphale was loud, Crowley is certain that if he hadn't sound proofed the tent, that everyone within a fifty mile radius would be hearing it, and the Them would probably be traumatised already.

But none of them can hear it. The people outside of the tent are completely unassuming, believing the pair to be asleep. They're not. Aziraphale is moaning, like a whore. His hips are meeting Crowley's, and Crowley knows that Aziraphale is close. He sees the way the angel writhes, the way his back arches to an inhuman angle and the sure sign that Aziraphale is close: the way the angel's moans get higher and higher pitched. His hand finds Crowley's back, gripping almost painfully tight. There  _ should _ be red welts and finger marks, but there won't be anything there.

Aziraphale comes with a groan, a shout and something that sounds like the language from the Old Kingdom. A few more choice thrusts and Crowley is coming with an almost silent grunt. His chest heaves as he slumps onto Aziraphale.

It should be uncomfortable, the pair are sticky, sweaty and  _ gross _ but weirdly, it's nice. A few minor miracles and the pair are in a better state - cleaned up, in their pyjamas cuddling close. Aziraphale smiles slightly, resting his head onto Crowley's shoulder as the demon conjures up a pot of tea and a cupcake for the angel. 


End file.
